


A Lost Language

by flowerbedofsouls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, pocpotterweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 19:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10420221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerbedofsouls/pseuds/flowerbedofsouls
Summary: Aunt Petunia apologised to Harry. Harry talks to Draco about it.this is for pocpotterweek on tumblr. both harry and draco are of colour.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short one for **[pocpotterweek](http://pocpotterweek.tumblr.com)**

“What’s wrong?” Draco asks immediately, sensing his boyfriend’s brooding.

 

Draco is seated on the couch, a blanket covering his lap and a book—now closed and put aside. Harry is standing at the doorway, looking rather lost.

 

“I just spoke to my aunt,” Harry whispers, scratching his rough stubble-borderline-beard. He clears his throat before he continues, “She, er—wanted to apologise.”

 

Draco cannot contain his surprise; his eyebrows rise towards the hairline. “Really?” he asks in disbelief. “What gives?”

 

Harry sighs and palms his face for a moment, before he combs his hair with it instead. His hair has gotten a bit longer; it frames his face quite nicely, which results in it looking cleaner and less of a mess.

 

Draco realises, once again, how beautiful Harry is. The half-lit hallway behind him surrounds him almost like an aura. He wishes to see more of his boyfriend’s face; he wants to kiss the lightning bolt scar which reaches down to his cheek; he wants to map the brown skin with his lips as well as declaring his love with whispers.

 

“Well, obviously, Dudley and I have been talking for a while, and sometimes I’ve mentioned about… what I think,” Harry starts and leans against the doorway. He crosses his arms over his stomach. “And from what I understand, she’s sorry she forced me to assimilate into… the white suburbia…”

 

Draco frowns. “I thought you didn’t speak—“

 

“I don’t,” Harry cuts him off rather sharply. At Draco’s flinch, he sighs and sends him an apologising glance before he looks down at his socks. “It’s just—apparently I _could_ speak a bit. When I was a baby,” he explains softly. “She thought I was just—well, speaking gibberish. She now realised that—that my dad had—had most likely spoken his language to me.”

 

“Oh,” Draco says softly.

 

He cannot really relate to this. Sure, his grandfather Cygnus were of Chinese descent, but his mother never really cared, nor did she look much like her sisters. Not to mention that Draco does look a bit more like his father than his mother.

 

Nor were he ever taught about this part of his ancestry. His mother tended to gloss over this part and Draco never bothered to pester her about it. He had never felt the same calling as Harry does.

 

On the other hand, he never really grew up thinking that it mattered. The only relevant thing was the purity of your blood. Although his parents have grown on Harry, it certainly took its time. With all things considered, it probably had more to do about their past… _conflicts_ , rather than the purity of Harry’s blood. Yet never had the topic about race and ethnicity been a reoccurring one for Draco.

 

“Is it wrong of me to think that I’d be closer to my dad if I learnt the language?” Harry asks and squirms a bit under Draco’s gaze.

 

A sigh blows out of Draco and he sits up straighter, pulling off the blanket from his lap and stands up to walk over to Harry. “No,” he tells him, and puts his arms around him. “If you feel that way, then it’s true to _you_ ,” Draco mumbles and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

 

It is comfortable to be close to someone you love. He wishes deeply that Harry could have had any other childhood than the one he had. How _terrible_ it must have been for him to grow up, knowing that no one cared about the brown kid growing up.

 

A surge of guilt washes over him, but disappears just as quickly as it came. The way he used to bring up Harry’s dead parents is something that is over and done with. He is lucky that Harry has the most forgiving heart.

 

Harry hums softly in response. “What if I learn the language but I don’t feel anything?”

 

“Love,” Draco starts, “then we will figure out something else. Don’t fret over what hasn’t yet come.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry whispers.

 

They share a kiss, swiftly but meaningfully, before Draco straightens with a small smile tugging at his lips.

 

“So, let’s find someone to teach you the language and culture,” he says and earns a grateful smile from Harry as well.

**Author's Note:**

> For further explaining and reference to how I imagine them, visit the fic on my [Tumblr](http://isaksqueaks.tumblr.com/post/158754637821/a-lost-language-for-pocpotterweek-thursday) and scroll down to the bottom.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/raresora) & [Tumblr](http://www.isaksqueaks.tumblr.com).


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